The Otter and the Hedgehog
by The Emcee
Summary: Eight years after Sherlock's fall, John is putting their son, Andrew, to bed. Andrew wants John to tell him a story before he falls asleep and John happily complies. Mentions of Sherlock/John, Moriarty/John.


Title: The Otter and the Hedgehog

Author: The Emcee

Rating: K+

Summary: Eight years after Sherlock's fall, John is putting their son, Andrew, to bed. Andrew wants John to tell him a story before he falls asleep and John happily complies.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, the actors, or the fandom. This story contains slash and mentions of mpreg. If you don't like then don't read. I've changed some things that happened in the show to fit the story John tells, so sorry.

A/N: Considering that Benedict and Martin are often compared to the otter and the hedgehog, I figured that this would be cute. Tell me what you think! R&R. Enjoy!

**The Otter and the Hedgehog**

It was nine o'clock in the evening, a good half hour past Andrew's bed time, and John was just putting his son to bed. Andrew looked a lot like Sherlock, especially with those dark curls and that knowing, observant look in his eyes, but his eye color came from John. In the doctor's mind, he was the perfect combination of Sherlock and John and shared many of their traits. He was just as brilliant as Sherlock and every bit as stubborn as well, but he was kind and patient, much like John. But he was being a right brat about going to bed.

"I don't see why my bed time is eight thirty when Sally Adler gets to stay up until nine or nine thirty." John gave Andrew a soft, tired smile. Just like Sherlock, Andrew threw fits when he was in a mood to and often picked apart a person's life just to spite them. No matter how many times John told him not to do that, at least out loud and to the person, Andrew did it anyway.

"Because I'm not Sally's father. And you can be rest assured that if I were, she'd get going to bed at eight thirty as well. Besides, it's a school night and you get cranky and stubborn when you don't get at least eight hours of sleep." Turning the night light on, John turned off the main light in the room and padded over to Andrew's bed. The eight year old was pouting and had his small arms crossed over his chest. John found it endearing.

"Will you read me a story, at least? I always fall asleep when you read to me. Please, Daddy?" Andrew gave John his best puppy dog look, but he needn't bother. John had already expected the request from his son and had planned to indulge him.

"I'll do you one better. How 'bout I tell you a story that I know very well? I'm sure you'll find it somewhat interesting. You might even have dreams about it." Andrew snorted, again reminding John of Sherlock.

"Highly unlike. Dreams are caused by –"

"I know what they're caused by, Andrew. You've already explained that to me the other night." John pulled up a chair by Andrew's bed. He sat down and watched as his son got comfortable, sitting up straight and at attention. Clearly, he just didn't want to go to bed, but John also knew that part of his interest was also invested into the story.

"Now don't interrupt me very much, alright? Or else I won't finish the story." Andrew nodded vigorously and stared at John with wide, blue-grey eyes.

"I won't, Daddy. I promise." John smiled at him and kissed Andrew's hair softly before he sat back down.

"Good." John cleared his throat and collected himself before he continued. The story he was about to tell Andrew was based in truth and fact, but adjusted to suit the mind of a child. He knew that Andrew had the intelligence to pick apart the story, but he didn't mind that. It was part of the reason why John loved his baby boy so much.

"Once upon a time, there was a hedgehog named John." Andrew opened his mouth, but John shot him a look, silencing him immediately.

"Once upon a time, there was a hedgehog named John. He was one of the Queen's soldiers, but he saved more lives than he ended. One day, John was hurt and had to return home, destined to never see the battlefield again. Or so he thought. When he returned to his home town, John was introduced to the most peculiar otter he had ever met. The otter's name was Sherlock and he was fantastically brilliant and devastatingly handsome. Upon meeting one another for the first time, Sherlock was able to deduce many things about John, including that he had served under the Queen and had been injured. They became flat mates shortly thereafter and solved many cases together." John paused, remembering the day that he had first encountered Sherlock. It was still as clear and concise as it had been before Andrew came along, and John had a feeling that he'd never forget it. Not even if he tried.

"The two eventually became friends, and then they became lovers. Sherlock and John were practically inseparable and completed each other in a way that no other couple had been able to do. It astounded everyone they knew, but they didn't mind; it made perfect sense to them. Life became a constant throe of chaos for John, but he enjoyed every minute of it and wouldn't have traded it for the world. Months passed and nothing changed. Not much, anyway."

"But then John was taken from Sherlock by an evil, maniacal cat named Moriarty. Moriarty had been watching Sherlock for quite some time now and initially wanted to play a sinister game with him. When John came into the picture, however, Moriarty became angry and viewed John as a trespasser. So, Moriarty took the hedgehog from right under Sherlock's nose. He had planned on strapping John in a vest of explosives and kill him right in front of the otter. However, something happened that neither John nor Moriarty had planned: Moriarty had developed an…attraction for John. It was merely sexual, but it was there and it was strong." John almost shuddered at the memory, but he resisted the urge. Andrew didn't need to know outright how the memory affected him. It wouldn't do either of them any good anyway.

"Because of this strong desire, Moriarty had a difficult decision to make. Either he could follow through with his original plan or make a new one, one in which Sherlock would still lose the game but would never be with John again. Instead, Moriarty would have John and the otter would be left alone again. The decision was a hard one, but the cat was very cunning and very clever. In the end, he decided that he wasn't going to kill the hedgehog, although he did still make him wear the vest of explosives. When Sherlock arrived at the meeting place, a pool, and found John, he was a bit at a loss for words and had to reevaluate the entire situation. Moriarty gave him little time to do so, using John as a mouth piece before revealing himself. It took Sherlock very little time to figure out the cat's true intentions." John paused, looking at Andrew, who appeared to be far more attentive than John thought he'd be. With a very small smile, he continued on with the story.

"Thankfully, Moriarty was called away for a moment, which gave Sherlock time to remove the explosives from John's person. They thought it was finally over and allowed themselves a moment of relaxation. Well, naturally, Moriarty always had another trick up his sleeve. One of his men, a dog named Sebastian, set the explosives off. Moriarty escaped, but so did the otter and the hedgehog, thanks to the otter's quick thinking. Both left and returned home, relatively unharmed, but Moriarty's game continued with John as his ultimate prize. Sherlock and John continued solving cases together, but Moriarty was always lurking in either sunshine or shadow."

"Eventually, the cat gave the hedgehog an ultimatum: choose one or the other, Sherlock or Moriarty, or pay a price. Of course, John chose Sherlock and that upset Moriarty greatly. The cat challenged Sherlock with one final puzzle: guess the correct code within a certain amount of time and John would remain alive and well. If he couldn't, the Sherlock would have to fall to his death and John would forever be under the threat of death from Moriarty's fateful dog, Sebastian. With Sebastian ready to kill John unless Sherlock either figured out the code or jumped, he had very few options."

"When the time came to begin the final challenge, Sherlock began to work through the cat's mind to discover the code, all the while standing on a roof top about to fall. But the clever cat had one last card to play. Just before the otter could figure it out before the clock ran out, Moriarty killed himself. As the code was the only way to call the dog off of John, Sherlock had no choice but to jump. And so, with one last look at the hedgehog who stood down below, the otter jumped off the roof and plummeted to his death." John paused and swallowed the lump in his throat. Even now, eight years later, it was hard for him to talk about it, regardless of the fact that it was in a fairy tell setting. After having collected himself, John gave Andrew a loving smile and smoothed out his bed sheets.

After watching Sherlock fall, John was heartbroken. His otter was gone, leaving him all lone. But other things transpired, small surprises, and one big, unexpected gift. Eight months after Sherlock's fall, John gave birth to a baby, one with the otter's dark fur and the hedgehog's eyes. Although the baby couldn't replace Sherlock and didn't take away all of the pain in John's heart, he was the best thing to happen to the hedgehog and the otter, even if the otter didn't know it. John and his child lived on without the otter and became a happy family of two until the end of their days. The end." John gave Andrew a smile tinged with sadness. The boy studied him for a moment or so before he crawled over to John and hugged him. Automatically, John's arms wrapped around the small boy and pulled him onto his lap, holding him close.

"I'm sorry, Daddy." John chuckled softly and pulled away. He brushed Andrew's dark curls out of his eyes and smoothed them down.

"What for, Andrew?" John wasn't a fool. He knew that the boy knew that the story was about his father, Sherlock, and about all that had happened. But Andrew had recently begun to voice his curiosity as to why Sherlock wasn't around. How else was John to explain it to him, even if his method was juvenile and somewhat insulting to his son's brilliant mind?

"Father." John's heart clenched and surprise took over.

Even though Andrew never had the chance to meet Sherlock and never would meet him, John talked about him often. But he wasn't sure if their son actually viewed Sherlock as his father, even though he was. After all, Sherlock had long since passed away and it had just been the two of them. Mycroft often stopped by, or rather picked them up, and Greg was a familiar face as well. Andrew knew them both well and acted as though they were family, which they were, to John at least. Knowing that his son saw Sherlock as his father brought a sense of happiness and peace to John's mind that he had needed desperately. He just hadn't realized it until Andrew said that one simple word.

"It's fine, Andrew. You're all I need, so there's nothing to worry about." Andrew looked up at him, studying him, but seemed satisfied with what he found. Smiling tiredly up at him, the eight year old yawned and John chuckled softly.

"Now that I've told you a story, time for bed. Go on. Underneath the blanket." John lifted the blanket so that Andrew could crawl in underneath. Once he was situated, John tucked in the blanket around him, noticing just how long and thin his son was. Just like Sherlock.

"But I'm not sleepy." Even as he said it, Andrew yawned and rubbed his eyes tiredly. John smiled down at him, a soft chuckle or two escaping him.

"Of course you aren't. But the sandman demands that his job get done and he can't do it unless you're tucked in."

"The sandman doesn't exist. The 'sand' that gathers around the eyes is just dried rheum, or mucus, that's naturally discharged from the eyes." John patted the blanket and nodded.

"Yes, yes, you've told me numerous times. Now, get to sleep." John bent down and placed a soft kiss on his son's forehead. Smoothing his dark curls away from Andrew's forehead, John stood up and walked towards the door.

"Good night, Andrew. Love you." The light from the night light illuminated the room and John could see Andrew smile tiredly.

"Night, Daddy. Love you too."

With one last glance at Andrew, John left his son's bed room. As he made his way into the living area, thoughts of Sherlock and what they had together came flooding back, causing him to almost trip over the rug in the room. Collapsing in his chair, John raked a hand over his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A light breeze caressed his skin and he removed his hand to see where it was coming from. Glancing around the room, he noticed that one of the windows was open. It was strange, because John could have swore that they had all been closed, but then again, he was getting a bit forgetful as the years wore on.

Standing up, he crossed the room and closed the window. He leaned against the cool glass of the window and breathed in and out. Sherlock was an almost constant presence within his mind, even now. John knew that he'd never be able to forget the brilliant and amazing man who was Sherlock Holmes. And now, because of a silly bed time story, neither would their son.


End file.
